The School days of Sherlock Holmes
by TheGameIsOn-Geronimo
Summary: Mischievous Sherlock hates school but when young John Watson comes into his class things start to get interesting... First fanfiction I've written so I hope it'll be okay :D
1. Chapter 1

**AN: I don't own the original Characters that are in this fic. They belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Steven Moffat (and the other Sherlock cast and crew)  
**

* * *

**Chapter 1: Alone**

The skinny boy with the curly hair scowled as he pushed his way through the crowds of students that were heading towards their next lessons.

Sherlock had never been one to say "excuse me" and today was no exception. He barged his way roughly through the groups of children, muttering under his breath about how unfair his life was. He was missing English, a really boring lesson, he'll admit, to have a "talk" with his head of year. He knew perfectly well what she wanted to talk to him about but he didn't want to talk to her at all and felt it was all a waste of time.

He approached the door to Mrs Wilkins' room slowly, trying to waste as much time as possible. He reached up and knocked on the door and waited to be called in as he glanced at the lock, working out the exact method he would use to pick it if he ever had to.

He pushed open the door and walked in, dropping his bag on the floor and taking the seat Mrs Wilkins indicated. He gave her one look and then avoided eye contact,

"Good morning, Sherlock" she said in a friendly voice. Sherlock didn't reply. He hated it when teachers tried to be nice, they clearly weren't and there was no point pretending that they were.

Mrs Wilkins continued, "I've asked you here because I've heard from other teachers that you are not mixing in with your classmates and you don't seem to have made any friends and I want to help you". She gave him a pitying look and Sherlock glared at her.

"All the other children are stupid" he replied, simply, "I don't want to be friends with idiots"

"Sherlock!" she exclaimed, shocked, "they are your peers and you need to respect them!"

"Why should I? They don't respect me"

"What? Sherlock, are you being bullied?"

"What kind of a stupid assumption is that?" Sherlock said, "If you teachers would just observe things better you would know that I am perfectly fine and I don't want any friends!"

Mrs Wilkins frowned at him and Sherlock could tell this was going to be a long talk. Why was she so worried about him when it was clear that her marriage was going downhill and soon she'd break up with her husband? Scowling, Sherlock folded his arms and prepared himself for a lot of pity that he didn't need.

* * *

The bell rang for second period just as Sherlock left Mrs Wilkins' room. "What a tedious hour!" he thought to himself as he walked to chemistry. People moved out of his way as he walked near them. He heard whispered voices say "freak" and "weirdo", but he didn't care. Didn't people understand that he didn't care what people thought about him?

Walking up the stairs to chemistry he secretly hoped they were going to be doing an experiment (which was much more interesting that writing notes or answering questions) but as he entered the classroom he knew that wouldn't be the case. Mr Cutter looked tired and annoyed and there were no particles of ash on his fingertips, showing that he hadn't had a cigarette yet today and was going to be bad tempered until he got one.

Sighing, Sherlock walked over to his table in the back corner of the room and took out his things. Once Mr Cutter had gone around checking the homework he pulled a book on forensics out if his bag and slipped it under his exercise book so he could read it during the lesson. As Mr Cutter started a long talk about particles, Sherlock put his head down and started reading about crime scenes and forensics. "Why did they never do anything interesting in school?" he wondered, "why didn't they learn the side effects of poisons or how to not only see but to observe, which everyone at this school was terrible at?" Sherlock didn't understand how people missed obvious details when looking at things and knew that, in the end, he could deduce things which meant he was cleverer than everyone.

* * *

The clock took a long time to reach break time. When the bell finally rang Sherlock jumped up and hurried from the classroom.

He made his way down to his tree, where he spent every break time, and sat down in the grass with his back resting against the trunk. He looked with interest at two girls who were shouting at each other for doing something wrong.

Why did people want him to make friends when friendships clearly always ended badly? Mummy, Mycroft, the teachers, they all kept going on about having friends. Sherlock was alone and he was fine.

Alone protected him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: New Boy**

John frowned at his reflection in the mirror and straightened his tie. His door burst open, "come on, slow coach! We'll be late!" his older sister, Harry, shouted at him. "Alright, I'm coming!" he replied, running down the stairs and collecting his bag from the hall. Nerves coiled in his stomach as Harry and John headed out of the door.

It was their first day at their new school. They had had to move house after their father had died in Afghanistan and now they were starting at the local school, Midtown High.

Entering the school was nerve-wracking. Groups of friends huddled together in the corridor, giving them curious looks as they pushed their way to reception. That was the disadvantage of starting a new school, half way through a year (especially year seven like John was.) Everyone had already made their friends and sorted out their lessons. He was going to have trouble fitting in, he thought as he collected his timetable and made his way to his first lesson, chemistry. No one would ever want him as a friend.

* * *

Sherlock POV

Sherlock was bored. Bored. Bored. Bored. He completely understood the theory of the practical they were supposed to be doing but the teacher insisted on going over it for the idiots in the class. It was simple really; magnesium reacted with the oxygen in the air when it was burnt to give magnesium oxide.

2Mg + O2 = 2MgO

Honestly, if they thought that was hard, wait until they get to carbonates and hydrocarbons...

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. The teacher frowned and said "enter". The door opened and a sandy haired boy came in. 11 years old, father died in a war, recently moved to the area, older sister... the deductions filled his head as he examined the boy now talking to the teacher. Mr Cutter nodded and straightened up, "attention, everyone!" he called to the class "this is John Watson and he is joining your class"

"Why can't you start school in September like normal people, Watson?" the class bully, Anderson, shouted. Several people laughed as the boy blushed and studied the floor.

"Now, now, Anderson. I hope you will all make John feel welcome" he said sternly, "there's a seat next to Sherlock, John" the teacher said, pointing to Sherlock's table.

Sherlock sighed and moved his bag to the side. He glared at John as he approached. Just what he needed, another stupid kid sitting next to him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Meeting**

John walked slowly to his seat, feeling the heat in his face from Anderson's comment. He sat down, took out a textbook he'd been given and tried to ignore the stares from the rest of the class that were burning into him.

Slowly, the other members of the class turned back to the teacher and John silently thanked the teacher that he had given him a seat on the back row. Now he didn't need to worry about meeting any hostile stares, he looked up and tried to work out what the class was learning about. He took out his pencil case and prepared to start taking notes when he noticed that one person was still looking at him.

He looked to his right and met the cold blue eyes that belonged to the dark haired boy he had been sat next to. The boy's eyes burned into him with a fierce intensity and the boys head was tilted slightly in a questioning way. John tried not to squirm under the scrutiny and stared at the boy in what he hoped was a defiant way. He certainly didn't want people teasing him on his very first day of school.

"Afghanistan or Iraq" the boy asked, suddenly.

"Sorry?" John replied, confused.

"Your father" the boy explained "was he in Afghanistan or Iraq when he died?"

"Afghanistan... sorry how did you know-"

"I don't know, I notice" the pale boy cut in "The way you stand up straight shows that you were taught to do that by a family member, clearly one in the military. You're just starting this school having moved to the area. Why would you do that? Money trouble? Houses are cheap and small around here so clearly you don't need much room and your parents have a low income. Starting school now? Something happened suddenly that you couldn't plan, probably a family member died. Not a distant relation, you look tired – nightmares. You wouldn't have nightmares about them if you hardly knew them, so it was someone close to you. You're tanned. You've been abroad recently but you weren't sunbathing, a formal occasion? You flew off to another country for the funeral of a family member in the military and missed school to do it. Your father then as your mother wouldn't have allowed you to miss the start of year seven for anyone else. Where do you get a tan if you're in the army? Afghanistan or Iraq. Simple" the boy finished and turned away, fixing his attention on what the teacher was writing on the whiteboard.

John stared at the side of the boy's head, completely lost for words. "That was... incredible" he breathed out.

The boy's eyes snapped back to him. "You think so?"

"Of course it was! It was incredible, absolutely incredible" he said in disbelief.

"That isn't what people normally say" the boy said, looking slightly confused

"What do people usually say?" John asked, not knowing how anyone couldn't think what the boy had just done was amazing.

"Piss off" the boy answered simply.

John chuckled at that. He could easily see that it could be annoying but the boy had just worked out everything about his father and he thought that was fantastic.

At that moment the bell rang for next lesson. The curly haired boy jumped up and then turned to John looking slightly awkward. "Would you like to spend break time with me? We'll meet outside the library at five to eleven". He turned away to leave.

"That's it?" John said

The boy turned again "What?"

"We've just met and already you want me to be with you at break time? Don't you have other friends?"

"Problem? The boy asked, ignoring the last question.

"We don't know a thing about each other. Well, I suppose you know loads about me, but I don't know who you are, I don't even know your name"

"The names Sherlock Holmes" the boy answered after a seconds hesitation "Outside library, five to eleven. You might find out some more then"

Sherlock spun around and walked out of the classroom, leaving John gazing after him before a smile broke out on his face. Maybe it wouldn't be so hard to make friends after all.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Thank you to everyone who's reviewed/ following/ Favorited this story. I really hope you're all enjoying it! :) I'm planning to write a few more chapters when they're in year 7 and then I think I'm going to do each Sherlock case (in a school environment) for each year they're at school, if that makes sense? :D Anyway, enjoy chapter 4! :)**

**Chapter 4: Friend?**

Sherlock approached the entrance to the library, doubting John Watson would be there waiting for him. No one ever wanted to spend time with him and certainly no one had ever wanted to be his friend.

This meant he was pleasantly surprised when he saw the sandy-haired boy quietly waiting in the corner. As he approached, John's blue eyes brightened and a shy smile appeared on his face.

"Sorry, I'm late," Sherlock muttered. "My idiot maths teacher kept me in to finish my homework, because she thought I didn't understand it".

"That's alright," John replied, "I don't mind waiting"

Sherlock stared at him for a second and then spun around in his long dark blue coat and pushed open the library door.

He marched through the library, with John trotting behind on his shorter legs, until he reached a secluded table in the back corner. As he passed the Librarian's desk, the librarian, Mrs Hudson, waved and smiled at them.

Sherlock sat down with a huff and started pulling books out of bag. John sat down opposite him and didn't speak a word until Sherlock pulled a skull out of his bag.

"That's a skull" he stated, amazed.

"Friend of mine... well, I say friend" Sherlock said, smirking.

"Where'd you get it?" John asked, his eyes wide with surprise.

"Oh, I dug it up in the grounds of the manor" Sherlock replied, waving his hand dismissively.

"Manor?" John questioned

"Holmes Manor. My Family's house"

"Your family has a manor? Do you live there?" John said, incredulously.

"No, I only stay there in the holidays. During term time I stay with my annoying older brother, in a flat in London" Sherlock said.

"Oh, okay" John said, satisfied that his questions had been answered truthfully.

John stayed quiet for a moment before more question came into his head.

"_Why_ do you have a skull?" he asked. Clearly he had decided this question was the most important at the moment.

"I like talking to it. I think better when I talk aloud. Sadly, the skull draws a lot of attention" he said, sighing in a resigned way. He had been teased an awful lot at the start of the year, because of the skull. To be honest, he didn't see the problem with it.

"Maybe I don't need it anymore!" he said suddenly, looking up at John with his eyes shining. "I can talk aloud to you if you're going to be here with me"

He smiled brightly and then realised what he had just implied. It was highly unlikely that John would want to stay with him now he had found out more about him. What if he didn't like some of his deductions? Or found his thinking boring?

Shyly, he looked up through his long curls to see John's reaction.

John was smiling.

"I'll stay with you" he stated simply, "I'll stay with you if you want me too".


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Arch Enemy**

John hurried home after his first day at school. He was feeling very relieved that he had managed to find someone to stay with at school and he had a feeling Sherlock would make his school life very exciting.

As he walked down a road, the chilly November air cutting into him, a sleek black car pulled up next to him.

John glanced at it and continued walking, not expecting anything to happen. Then a cold voice sounded behind him.

"John Watson"

John froze, fear making his heart skip a beat. Carefully, he set his face in a frown, clenched his fists to stop his hands shaking, and turned around.

A tall man wearing a dark suit and leaning on a black umbrella stood in front of him. He had a sly smirk on his face and was watching him intently.

"How do you know my name?" John asked, deciding to skip the pleasantries and get straight to the point. His mother had always told him to "Not talk to Strangers" but he could see few ways of getting out of this situation without talking to the man.

"That is not important" The man stated, "What is though, is that you spent lunchtime with one Sherlock Holmes"

"I think it's none of your business who I spend lunchtime with" John replied, angrily, "How do you know that anyway?"

"It could be" the man said, completely ignoring the question directed at him.

"It really couldn't" John said.

"You don't seem very afraid" the man told him.

"You don't seem very frightening" John snapped back.

The man chucked, "Yes, the bravery of the soldier's son. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don't you think? What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?"

John's eyes narrowed, "I don't have one. I met him today"

"You spent lunchtime with him" the man repeated.

"I can spend lunchtime with who I want" John almost growled.

"You trust him. You want to be his friend" The man said. I wasn't a question, it was a statement.

"Who the _hell _are you?" John asked, fear starting to get a strong grip on him.

"The closest thing to a friend Sherlock Holmes is capable of having"

"What's that?" John asked, warily.

"An enemy"

"Enemy?"

"In his eyes certainly. I suppose if you were to ask him he'd probably say his arch enemy. I think that shows why he doesn't have friends. He doesn't count people as friends. He thinks everyone is against him. But, maybe he sees you differently" the man said, almost to himself, he eyes glittering. "Can you keep an eye on him for me? Keep him out of trouble. Maybe, update me on what he's up to fairly regularly?"

"You want me to _spy _on him?" John asked, incredulous.

"I can pay you if that would make the decision easier" Sherlock's enemy said. John was quickly seeing how Sherlock could see this man as an enemy.

"No, I won't. Are we done?" John stated, hoping it sounded braver that he felt.

The man scowled. "I suppose so" he said, clearly annoyed, "If you tell him I was talking to you, tell him that I'm concerned about him"

John looked at him in surprise, blinked and then turned away, heading home.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: I just want to thank my sort-of Beta, LilMissNerdfighter, who has been checking this story for spelling and grammer mistakes :) Thank you!  
**

**Chapter 6: Bullying**

Sherlock stood under the tall oak tree, waiting for school to start. Every minute he glanced at the school gate, hoping John would be walking through it.

He was so distracted that he didn't notice the three people who came up behind him.

"Hello, freak," came a sly voice.

Sherlock swung round, his icy eyes narrowing instinctively. In front of him stood Anderson, Dimmock and Donovan, who had spoken.

"Ahh, Sally," Sherlock said, coolly, "Nice to see you again."

"Are you waiting for your little follower?" she asked

"I'm waiting for John, he's my... colleague," Sherlock said, defensively.

"How do you get a colleague? I think he must have followed him home, guys. Probably freaking him out, or threatening him. Why don't we give him some incentive to leave John alone?"

"Haha, that's sounds fun," Anderson chuckled, his eyes glittering with mirth.

He approached Sherlock and Sherlock took a step back, but was too slow to avoid the punch that hit him hard in the stomach. Sherlock doubled over, winded, as the others laughed at him.

"What's going on here?" a calm voice broke through the laughs.

Sherlock looked up and almost smiled. John Watson stood there.

"Sherlock, are you okay?" he asked, quietly.

Sherlock nodded, straightening up, but still very breathless.

"What was that for?" John almost shouted, turning round to face the group.

"He's a freak," Sally said, "that's why."

"He isn't a freak!" John shouted, angrily "You'll be lucky if I don't go to the headmaster about you for bullying!"

"You wouldn't do that," Anderson said, fearfully.

"Try me!" John replied, "Now go away and don't lay a finger on him ever again!"

The bullies turned tail and ran off. John turned and looked at Sherlock, "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, concern touching his voice. "Should you go to matron?"

"No I'm fine," Sherlock said, "Just a little winded. Thank you for doing... um... you know. That was good," he finished, awkwardly.

John smiled. "I assume they're your enemies?" he asked.

"What? Oh, yes, of course. They hate me. I hate them. It's mutual." Sherlock said matter-of-factly.

"I met another one of your friends yesterday, on my way home." John said.

Sherlock looked at him, "Friend?"

"Enemy." John corrected.

"Oh. Which one?"

John gave him a look which said "you can't be serious?" and then replied,

"Well, your archenemy. According to him, anyway."

Sherlock thought about that for a moment. "Did he offer you money to spy on me?" he asked, quietly.

"Yes," John said, looking at him, nervously.

"Did you take it?" he asked.

"No..." John replied, frowning in confusion.

Sherlock scowled "Pity, we could have split the fee, think it through next time."

John stared at him and then started to laugh.

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"Only you could say that about someone wanting to spy on you!" John exclaimed while trying to hold back his laughter.

A smile started to creep onto Sherlock's face. "Yeah," he said, starting to chuckle, "I suppose I am."

"I'm so glad you're my friend!" John shouted, suddenly.

The smile on Sherlock's face faltered for a moment, "We're friends?" he asked, cautiously.

"Of Course we are! Is that surprising? John said, his face falling into a worried frown.

"No, it's just..." Sherlock paused, frowning in contemplation, "I've never had a friend before." he admitted.

"What? Ever?" John asked, amazed.

Sherlock shook his head.

"Oh, Sherlock," John sighed, looking at him with concern. "Don't worry about it now, because you have got a friend."

Sherlock looked up at him.

"You've got me." John finished, smiling brightly and then took his arm and dragged him off to their form room.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: Mischief**

John tried hard to concentrate on his French revision as he sat in the library, but he couldn't. It was June now and the summer heat filtered in through the window. He looked over at Sherlock who was somehow still wearing his long coat. Over the past eight months, Sherlock and John had become firm friends and were now known as the mischief makers because of things they had done. These included accidently exploding some chemicals in the science block and melting a school laptop. John suspected that the only reason they hadn't been expelled was because they were both top of the class and Sherlock's family was very important in the government and so had probably forced the school to keep them.

"Aren't you roasting to death in that thing?" John asked.

"Hmm... what?" Sherlock said looking up from his book on forensics. They had their year seven exams approaching, but Sherlock was refusing to revise.

"You, in your coat, aren't you roasting to death?" John repeated, slowly.

"Of course not, John," Sherlock snapped, "Roasting would imply that I'm in an oven and clearly I'm not."

"Alright, sorry." John mumbled. He had learnt to not argue with Sherlock when he was in one of his moods. Instead he glanced around the library. It was empty except for them and one more desk.

On that desk sat a brown haired girl from their year. John searched around for a name but he couldn't find one. She was looking over the top of her book at Sherlock.

"Looks like you've got a shadow," John commented.

"What?" Sherlock said, looking up instantly.

John pointed towards the girl and Sherlock followed his gaze, staring at the girl with his piercing blue eyes.

The girl's eyes instantly widened and she hurriedly pulled the book up so it covered her face.

Sherlock smirked. "Molly Hooper." he stated "She's been following me around all year."

"Why?" John asked, confused.

"Sentiment." Sherlock said with a disgusted tone of voice.

"What and you haven't said anything to her?" John asked.

Sherlock looked at him, "No, why should I?"

John spluttered, "You have to tell her you're not interested in stuff like that."

"Maybe in a bit," Sherlock said, "but right now it's a lot of fun. She'll do anything for me." He smirked, coldly, and then looked around to see John's reaction.

John glared at him, "that's cruel, Sherlock." he told him.

Sherlock ignored him and went back to his book.

A few minutes passed and John could tell that Sherlock was getting restless. He tried to concentrate on his work but it was becoming nearly impossible.

"Bored." Sherlock mumbled. John glanced at him.

"BORED!" Sherlock shouted, making Molly and Mrs Hudson jump and look round.

"Well, what are going to do about it?" John asked, casually.

Sherlock looked at him. "I'm going to the Science Block, come along, John". And with that he stood up and marched out of the library.

* * *

Sherlock and John stood outside the Chemistry store room, where all the chemicals were kept. John glanced at Sherlock, hoping he wasn't thinking of doing what he thought he was.

Sherlock glanced up and down the corridor and then approached the door, peering inside. Nobody there. He slowly pulled a pin out of his pocket, stuck it in the lock, and proceeded to wriggle it about until the lock clicked open.

"Sherlock," John hissed, "We are not going in there, if we're caught..."

"Come on, I want to show you something." Sherlock replied as he entered the room and turned to see John with his arms crossed by the door.

"There is no way I'm coming in there," John said.

"Could be dangerous?" Sherlock said, innocently. He knew how much John loved danger.

John looked at him for a moment and then looked annoyed as he entered the room, his mischievous part of him winning over the sensible part, "Damn it, Sherlock," he muttered. He watched as Sherlock started opening cupboards and looking for god-knows-what chemicals. Soon he got to the freezer, pulled open the door and let out an excited "aha!"

"What have you found?" John asked him.

"Dry Ice," Sherlock said, pulling a large box out of the freezer.

"Okay... what are we going to do with that?"

"We're going to make foam!" Sherlock said, as if it was obvious.

"Oh, okay then, foam..." John repeated.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Fill that tub up with water and put some washing up liquid in it," he ordered.

John picked up the plastic tub, glanced at the door and then went to the sink to fill the tub up with water. When it was full, he carefully set it down and squirted in a lot of washing up liquid.

"What do we do now?" he asked, he wouldn't admit it but he was nervous about what was going to happen.

"Now we add some dry ice... but not too much... because then there would be too much foam." He said. "Do you want to put some in?" Sherlock asked, handing the large beaker he'd put the dry ice in to John.

"Um... okay, how much of this do you want in it?" John said.

"Certainly not all of it... just maybe a quarter?" Sherlock replied, his eyes glittering with the promise of something interesting about to happen.

John knelt on the ground and carefully started to tip to ice into the liquid but then Sherlock lost his balance where he was crouched next to John and fell into him. John jerked and the whole beaker of dry ice ended up falling in the water.

As soon as it hit the surface, it started to hiss and steam started coming out, quickly followed by foam that built up and started overflowing the sides of the tub.

John and Sherlock both jumped to their feet. They looked at each other, their eyes wide, and then looked back at the foam which was slowly spreading over the floor and showing no signs of stopping.

"Sherlock, you idiot." John said, backing away from the foam that was trying to spread over his shoes.

"Hmmm. This is definitely interesting." Sherlock commented, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards. "Actually... I think we should run." Sherlock said.

They both leapt forwards and ran for the door, trying not to slip over on the foam that had just reached the bottom of the door and was slowly leaking out into the hallway.

They sprinted down the corridor and through the school site, ignoring any shouts of "Stop Running!" or "Slow Down!", until they reached the oak tree.

They leaned against the trunk, trying to get their breath back, before they both burst into hysterical laughter.

"That was ridiculous!" John said, breathlessly. "That was the most ridiculous thing we've ever done!"

Sherlock chuckled next to him. "What do we do now" he asked, trying to compose his face into one of seriousness.

"I have literally no idea," John said, "You do realise we have Chemistry next?'

"Ahh, that may be a problem," Sherlock said, frowning, but then he smiled and they both decided that they didn't care what happened now.

* * *

After lunch they approached the science block and waited outside their classroom. After a few minutes Mr Cutter emerged and looked at them.

"Ahh, I need to talk to you. Come with me," he said.

John and Sherlock exchanged a look, trying not to smile, as they followed Mr Cutter to the store room. Mr Cutter pushed open the door and stepped back, allowing them to absorb the scene before them.

The whole floor was covered in thick foam that was slowly being mopped up by technicians. Somehow it had even managed to start climbing up the wall and cupboards.

John and Sherlock turned to look at Mr Cutter, who was looking at them with raised eyebrows.

"Do you two know anything about this?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Hi Everyone! Sorry I haven't updated in a few weeks I've been busy - homework, school, oh, and MEETING BENEDICT CUMBERBATCH! Hope you like the chapter :D**

**Chapter 8: Holmes Manor**

"John!...John!" Sherlock rushed after John who was just walking out of the school gate. The boy turned round and smiled.

"What?" he asked, concerned.

"Do you want to come to my house, tomorrow, for a sleepover?" Sherlock asked, fingers crossed, hoping that John would accept.

"Your house?" John asked, "Holmes Manor?"

"Yeah" Sherlock said, shuffling his feet. He didn't like talking about his family's wealth and John's amazed gaze was making him feel uncomfortable.

"We have detention after school tomorrow." John told him.

"I know" Sherlock snapped. They'd both been given after school detentions after the incident with the foam, and it just showed how bad the teachers thought their behaviour was as they had given them detentions on the last day of term. "After the detention."

"I'll have to check with my mum," John replied, his eyes sparkling, "But I should be allowed to come."

Sherlock smiled. "Good. I'll see you tomorrow then." He said, turning to walk to his London home.

* * *

Later that evening John texted him.

_Mum says I can come __:)__. What should I bring? – JW_

Sherlock smirked at the smiley. To be honest he didn't see the point of them. His fingers raced over the keypad as he sent off a reply.

_You don't need anything. Just bring some clothes (They should be quite formal, mummy will probably prepare a formal dinner for us), a sleeping bag and a pillow. We should have anything else you need. – SH_

He leaned back in his leather armchair and sighed. His mother had repeatedly asked him about John. What is he like? What does he like doing? There was a new question every week. Sherlock had answered all of them truthfully, but he was worried that his mother wouldn't accept John when they met. His mother and father were very rich and high up in society, whereas John was fairly poor and his family was working-class. He bit his lip. John was his friend and he wasn't going to let his own family judge him because of his status.

He pulled a bunch of newspaper articles out from under his chair, leaned back and started to read, looking for anything strange or mysterious.

* * *

The next day saw Sherlock bounding into school with excitement coming off him in waves. He couldn't wait for later, when John would be coming home with him.

He met up with John and they went to form together, both bubbling with excitement. They sat through one lesson, French, and then through a 2 hour assembly. Soon they were heading towards the science block for their detention – 100 lines of "I will not break into the science block and cause havoc" and then tiding up the store room. Sherlock thought it was quite stupid, allowing them to go near the chemicals.

After 3 hours they were ready to go. They ran up the road, hailed a cab and were soon speeding down the motorway, on their way to Holmes Manor. Sherlock watched John, who was staring out the window with his eyes shining. They turned off the motorway and started heading up a long, winding gravel drive.

Soon they turned the last corner to reveal the large stone mansion that stood at the end of the drive. Sherlock heard John gasp. He understood John's amazement; Holmes Manor was massive, expensive and looked rather like a palace. When the cab stopped, he threw some money at the driver and hopped out of the vehicle. He looked over at John, who was looking nervous as he bit his lip, looking up at the house.

Sherlock offered him his hand and John took it, smiling gratefully, as Sherlock pulled him up the steps to reach the large front door. He knocked once and they, almost instantly, opened revealing an old butler who bowed slightly to Sherlock. Sherlock stood up to his full height and pulled John into the house, casually dismissing the butler with a wave of a hand. Sherlock turned to look at John, who's eyes where following the butler retreating down the hallway.

"You have staff." He stated.

"Yes," Sherlock said, "Don't worry about them, they'll do anything you ask them."

"Okay..." John said, feeling completely out of his depth. He had never known anyone who had staff. Sherlock's family was rich and he knew it. What if they didn't approve of him?

He was pulled out of his thoughts by a loud call of "Sherlock!" from down the hall. From one of the many rooms, emerged a young looking woman. She wore a green dress that stopped around her ankles and had shoulder-length, wavy brown hair. John instantly knew this was Sherlock's mother. As she approached, John noted that unlike the bright blue eyes he had expected her to have, she had deep brown ones, that looked kind at the moment, but he was sure could turn very stern.

She walked right up to Sherlock and pulled him into a large hug and kissed both of his cheeks. Sherlock blushed as she released him.

"It's so good to see you! How was school? Have you been behaving? Why didn't you call me every week like you promised?" The questions came fast from her lips and John worked out that Sherlock had probably taught himself to talk very quickly, just to be able to get a word in when his mother was speaking.

Suddenly, the women turned to John, fixing him with a kind gaze.

"Oh! I'm sorry. I haven't introduced myself! You must be John Watson. Sherlock's told me all about you!" she exclaimed, eyes twinkling, "I'm Sherlock's mum, feel free to call me Violet" She smiled widely, and held out her hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," John said, shaking her hand and giving her a shy smile.

"Come on, John. Let's go upstairs." Sherlock cut in, grabbing his hand and yanking him away from his mum.

"Sherlock," his mother called after them "Dinner's in the dining room at seven thirty. You'll wear your suit, won't you?"

Sherlock didn't answer, just grumbled something inaudible. They hurried up a large marble staircase, turned right and continued walking until Sherlock halted outside a black door with his initials, SH, engraved into the wood.

"So, this is your room?" John asked.

"Obviously," Sherlock mumbled, pushing open the door and entering the room.

John followed more slowly, gazing around the room. In the top right corner was a single bed with a plain duvet, next to that was a large window with a window seat, looking out over the manor grounds. On the left wall was rows and rows of books, all shapes and sizes – text books, fiction, encyclopaedias – and John expected that Sherlock had read them all. Next to the door was a desk that looked more like a lab table with the microscope, chemicals and charts piled up all around it.

Sherlock stood in the middle of the room, timidly watching John examine everything in the room. Finally, John turned to him and beamed, "This is such a cool room!" he exclaimed.

"Um... Thank you," Sherlock said, "I spend most of my holidays here so most of my stuff is here."

John walked over to the bookcase and started looking at the book titles. He skimmed past the non-fiction and then concentrated more on the fiction. Titles like "Treasure Island", "Coral Island", "Peter Pan" and "Long John Silver" greeted him. He frowned and turned to Sherlock who was scribbling something onto a piece of paper on his desk.

"So," he said, slowly, "you like pirates?"

Sherlock spun around, his face lit up, "Yes!" he almost shouted, "I want to be one when I'm older. I will sail the seas, find buried treasure and raid other ships!"

John felt the stirring of adventure in his gut. "You'll be an amazing pirate." He commented, "You'll always be one step ahead of your enemy."

"Do you like pirates?" Sherlock asked, curiously.

"Yeah," John said, "I like pirates."

"Do you want to go and be pirates in the garden?" Sherlock asked, his eyes glinting with hope.

"Okay!" John said, moving toward the door, "let's go build a fort!"

* * *

Sherlock and John headed outside after finding some pirate hats, toy swords, eye patches and a toy parrot. John had to admit Sherlock looked the part in his long dark coat. They ran towards the edge of the estate until they reached a patch of trees. They hid in the shade and searched for the perfect place to build a fort. They soon found it - a hollow tree with just enough space for them to crouch down and spy on the manor, far away over the lawn.

They stayed there for a long time, occasionally running out, play fighting with their swords, shouting "Ahrr!" and trying to find buried treasure. They drew a treasure map and laughed and joked. Sherlock had just successfully beaten John to get his treasure of 5 sweets when John nudged him and looked over the lawn, toward the house.

A lone figure, swinging a black umbrella was approaching over the grass. As the figure approached, John gasped. Sherlock looked at him questioningly, raising one eyebrow.

"That's him," John whispered. "That's the man who spoke to me back in November- Your arch enemy."

Sherlock scowled. "I know exactly who that is." he growled, marching forward to meet the figure.

John followed behind him, hurriedly removing his hat and eye patch.

"Ahh, Sherlock," the man said in a patronising tone of voice, "You need to come and socialise with your family."

"What if I don't want to socialise?" Sherlock asked, coolly.

"You must. You know how it upsets mummy when you don't talk to her for days."

"It is not your business, Mycroft!" Sherlock growled "Mummy-"

"Mummy?" John cut in, "Who's mummy?"

"You met her." Sherlock said turning to him, "Mother, _our _mother. This is my older brother, Mycroft."

"He's your brother?" John questioned, disbelievingly.

"Go and change into your suit for dinner, Sherlock." Mycroft ordered, ignoring John's disbelief.

Sherlock glared at him and then stomped past him, heading for the house.

"You're Sherlock's brother? You're his arch enemy and his brother?" John asked, not believing his ears.

"That is correct." Mycroft said, turning to him, "he's always been so resentful - you can imagine the Christmas dinners."

"Yeah," John replied, thoughtfully, "Uh, No. God, no." He corrected, his eyes widening.

"I think you should go and get changed too, Mr Watson." Mycroft said. "I'll see you in the dining room in half an hour."

John nodded, slowly, then turned and ran back into the house.

He sprinted up the stairs and skidded to a stop outside Sherlock's room. He paused, then reached up and knocked twice. Sherlock's voice shouted at him to come in. He pushed open the door, walked in and found Sherlock wrestling with a bow tie, that was hanging around his neck, in front of the mirror.

"You look like you're having fun." John joked, smirking.

Sherlock spun around and glared at him, "Yes, I'm clearly having the time of my life," he drawled, sarcastically, "I really hate it when mother forces me to wear my suit." He grumbled, finally managing to sort out the bow tie and pull down his collar. John chuckled and headed over to his bag, which had been brought upstairs while they had been outside. He rummaged around and pulled out a shirt, blazer and trousers which he hurriedly changed into.

Ten minutes later, after Sherlock had made John guffaw with laughter, by doing insulting impressions of Mycroft eating cake and running the country, they headed downstairs. Sherlock led the way into the spacious dining room, where Violet and Mycroft were engaged in polite conversation about politics. They both looked up as the boys entered, and stood up to welcome them to the table.

John blushed as he sat down, having never been in such a posh place, and quietly listened to the conversation that Sherlock had begrudging joined in with. The starter was mussels in a beautiful, rich sauce. John had never tasted anything so delicious and he gobbled it up while trying to keep his manners. During the main course, roast pork and vegetables, Mrs Holmes turned her attention to him.

"So, John. What do you want to be when you're older? I hope you don't wish to be something silly like what Sherlock wants to be." She said, giving Sherlock a stern look.

John glanced at Sherlock as he grumbled and looked at his still full plate, "I'm not completely sure yet," John answered, truthfully, "But, I think I'd like to be a doctor."

Mrs Holmes looked at him approvingly, as Sherlock's head snapped up and fixed him with an intense stare.

"Why do you want to be a doctor?" he asked.

John shuffled in his seat, embarrassed, "I just want to, you know, help people. Stop people dying."

Mrs Holmes nodded understandingly, as Sherlock looked away and said quietly, just loud enough for John to hear him, "you'd make a brilliant doctor, because you care."

John looked at him in surprise and then smiled slightly. He turned away as dessert arrived, a large sponge cake with a side of fresh ice cream. John saw Mycroft's eyes light up in greed as he cut himself a large slice and started shovelling it into his mouth, spilling crumbs everywhere. He exchanged a look with Sherlock that had them both struggling to hold in their laughter.

After that they were dismissed and allowed to go to Sherlock's room. John thanked Mrs Holmes profusely and then followed Sherlock up to the first floor. They sat in Sherlock's room for the rest of the evening, talking, laughing, watching movies and finally playing  
Cluedo until John was so tired he couldn't concentrate anymore. At that point John rolled his sleeping bag out on the floor, got changed into his pyjamas and snuggled down in the warm fabric.

Sherlock had moved to sit on the window seat, outlined in silver from the light of the moon. John looked up at him, "Aren't you going to go to bed?" he asked.

"Not tired." Sherlock replied, gazing out into the night.

"Are you thinking?" John said, knowing that when Sherlock started thinking about a problem he wouldn't rest until he'd solved it.

"Hmm," Sherlock hummed in agreement. "Do you mind if I play some music?"

"Music?"John repeated, "Sure."

He watched as Sherlock got up and headed to the other side of the room, expecting him to put on a CD. He was surprised then when Sherlock pulled an instrument case out of the wardrobe and preceded to open it to reveal a violin. He set it up, went back to the window seat, tucked the instrument under his chin and started to play a slow, sad tune.

John quickly found his surprise diminishing as the long notes floated through the room and he found himself slipping into a restful sleep.

* * *

The next morning John woke up late but still felt very tired. He shuffled in his seating bag, feeling a bit like a slug, and turned his head to find Sherlock. Sherlock sat on the window seat, exactly where he had been last night, but the violin was gone. Instead he knees were drawn up to his chest and his hands were steepled under his chin. He gazed out at the garden, but as he heard John waking, he turned his head and looked at him.

John smiled, "Morning." He said.

"Did you sleep well?" Sherlock asked, casually.

"Yeah, I did thanks. Have you been up all night?"

"Yes. I was thinking."

John frowned and nodded. "You must be tired then."

Sherlock shrugged, "No, I can go a while without sleep and I was thinking about an experiment I need to do, before you ask."

John stared at him in amazement. He still hadn't got used to Sherlock seemingly predicting everything he was going to say.

"I suppose I should get ready to go home." John sighed. He had had such a good time with Sherlock and going back to his own home, where he had no one to play with, was going to seem mundane. Even playing with Harry wasn't the same as the sense of adventure that playing with Sherlock gave him.

Sherlock looked at him with wide eyes and then nodded once. "Yes, I think that would be a good idea."

John stood up, got changed and packed all his stuff away. Before long he was standing in the hall waiting for the butler to bring down his bags. Sherlock stood opposite him.

"I'm going away for the holiday." Sherlock told him, "So, I probably won't be able to see you until school starts again."

John looked down and nodded, trying not to show his disappointment. At that moment, his bags were deposited next to him. He called a "Thank you" to Mrs Holmes and smiled at Sherlock.

"See you at school, then." He said. He turned round, headed out the front door and climbed into the large black car, which was waiting to take him home.

As it pulled away from the house, he turned round, looking out of the back window and saw Sherlock standing on the doorstep. He held a hand up in a wave, but then the car went round a bend and Sherlock was lost from his sight. He turned round again, settled into the comfortable seat and quietly prayed that school would come sooner rather than later.


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: Yay! Another Chapter! I'm getting slower and slower, aren't I? If anyone's interested I'm writing another story called Snatched Away. It's about Sherlock's back story. If you want to read it, you can find it on my profile :) **

**Chapter 9: A Study in School**

John pulled opened his door and sprinted down the stairs, jumping them two at a time. He raced into the kitchen, grabbed a slice of toast from a plate on the side, and rushed out onto the street, heading towards school.

It was the first day back after the summer holidays, and John was going to be late. He'd slept in and was now having to run to school.

He entered the school gates, just as the bell rang for form time. Sighing in relief, John headed towards his form room. As he walked through the door, he glanced around the room. He instantly spotted the unruly mop of black, curly hair, only just visible behind a newspaper. He grinned and headed towards him.

"Anything interesting?" he greeted, trying to catch the boy's attention.

Sherlock Holmes emerged from behind the paper and looked at him, smiling.

"Suicides that don't make sense." He replied, "Brilliant."

John pulled the paper from Sherlock's hand, and glanced over the article about the mysterious suicides.

"How was your summer?" he asked, only paying half of his attention to Sherlock.

"Dull, as usual." Sherlock complained. John looked at him and smirked. He hadn't seen Sherlock since the first day of the holiday, over a month ago, and he had missed his dulcet tones.

He turned back to the paper and frowned as a name caught his eye.

"Doesn't she go to our school?" John asked, holding out the paper, so Sherlock could see where he was pointing.

Sherlock looked at the picture, of the girl named Jenny Wilson, and nodded.

"Yes, she's in Year Eleven... Well, was." He corrected.

"God," John exclaimed. "They're dying everywhere."

"They never leave notes," Sherlock stated. "But she did. Why?" He questioned, furrowing his brows in contemplation.

"I'm sure you'll work it out," John reassured him. "I expect we'll be having an assembly about her then soon."

Sherlock nodded his agreement. "Judging by the teachers stony expressions, I'd say now." He deduced, just before their form tutor stood up and told them all that they had an assembly in the hall.

"You are infuriating." John muttered, as they stood up to leave the classroom.

* * *

Sherlock didn't reply, just chuckled.

John and Sherlock filed into the hall, with the rest of their year, and took their seats. They stood when the Headmaster walked in and then sat down; waiting to hear what he had to say.

"Hello, everyone." He began, "It is my pleasure to welcome you all back to school after the summer holidays. I hope you all had a relaxing time and are now prepared to work hard throughout this year." He paused. "However, I'm afraid that with the start of this school year, I must bring some sad news. Yesterday, a fellow student, like yourselves, committed suicide. Jennifer Wilson."

Ripples of whispering erupted in the hall. Cries of shock, sadness and confusion.

"Hush, please." The Headmaster commanded. "I am very sorry to bring this news and I want to welcome you all to join in a minutes silence with me, as we think of her and her family." He fell silent, along with the rest of the hall.

A minute later he raised his head and started again. "The school will feel this loss greatly, but we will support Jennifer's family and hope that something like this never happens again. I want you all to be aware that the school is always here for you. If you ever feel lost, upset, scared, the school will always be here to offer support and help. You don't have to deal with things alone, and if you tell people about what is troubling you we can ensure that no-one feels the need to end their life like Jennifer did."

John nodded understandingly, as the Headmaster finished and then looked round as he felt movement beside him. Sherlock had raised his hand. The Headmaster looked down at him from the stage, "Yes, young man? Do you have a question?"

"How did she die?" Sherlock asked, flatly.

Everyone's faces turned to look at him. The Headmaster stared at him in shock for a moment, while Sherlock blinked innocently at him, then sniffed and said "I'm sorry, I can't tell you that. You do not need to know." He glared at him and then turned to sit on his chair, whilst the deputy head stood up to give notices.

Sherlock turned his head to see a glare directly pointed at him by John. Sherlock blinked and then suddenly realised. "Not good?" he asked, curiously.

John rolled his eyes, "Bit not good, yeah."

Sherlock sighed. "I want to know how she died. The papers don't tell people the details!" he exclaimed, looking cross.

"Come on, Sherlock." John chided, "Why do you have to know?"

"Something doesn't add up." Sherlock grumbled, eyes flicking around the room, as they got up to go back to their form room. "I want to know what it is."

"And how are you going to do that?" John asked.

"I'm going to go and look for it." Sherlock answered. He raised an eyebrow at John, "Coming?"

"We can't just run out of school!" John exclaimed.

"Just watch me." Sherlock shot back, walking towards the school gates, knowing John would follow.

"There are no words to describe how much I hate you right now." John muttered as he followed Sherlock. He glanced round; making sure no one was watching them or could see them.

Sherlock stopped at the gates and scowled at them. They were locked.

"What are we going to do now?" John asked, nervously looking over his shoulder.

"Climb, obviously." Sherlock told him, putting his foot on the bottom rail of the gate and hauling himself over with his arms.

"We'll get expelled for this," John grumbled ,as he did the same.

Sherlock ignored him, turned down the road and marched off, to find answers.


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: Hi everyone! Thank you so much for the support you're giving me! **

**This Chapter is for Angielima because you reviewed every chapter. Wow! I'm so glad you're enjoying it as much as you seem to be! :D  
**

**Just out of interest, if I started a story where I did one-shots and prompts, would anyone reading this story give me any prompts?  
**

**Enjoy!  
**

**Chapter 10: Crime Scene**

"So, are you going to tell me where we're going?" John shouted to Sherlock, who was almost running in front of him.

"We're going somewhere, to talk to someone, to get answers, John. I would have thought that would be obvious." Sherlock called back to him.

John shook his head. "Why do I bother?" he muttered to himself.

Sherlock turned up a drive and moved to knock on the door, as John caught his hand.

"Just for general knowledge," John said, "Who lives here?"

Sherlock scowled at him and replied: "Greg Lestrade. He was in Mycroft's year; they were sort-of friends, now he's doing work experience at Scotland Yard. Therefore, he should have answers, or at least the means of getting some."

John nodded, slowly, and released Sherlock's hand so he could knock on the door.

The door opened, after a few seconds, to reveal an older boy with brown hair.

"Hi, can I help you?" Lestrade asked, confused.

"I'm Mycroft Holmes' brother." Sherlock stated, casually, "We were hoping you could give us some information."

"Oh," Lestrade exclaimed, surprised. "So, you're Sherlock, right? Nice to meet you." He held his hand, and Sherlock glanced at it and then ignored it. "What do you want information about?"

"The dead girl, Jennifer Wilson." Sherlock told him.

Lestrade's eyes widened. "I'm sorry," he stuttered slightly. "I can't tell you anything about it, I'm not on that case-and, if you don't mind me saying, it's none of your business." He moved to shut the door, but Sherlock got his foot in the gap quicker.

"Just tell us where the crime scene is." Sherlock demanded, "Seeing as you won't tell us anything yourself."

"I can't." Lestrade repeated, teeth gritted.

Sherlock sighed, "If you don't help us," he muttered, slyly, looking innocently at his fingernails. "My brother may make your life a living hell." He looked up and smiled at Lestrade.

His mouth dropped open in shock and pulled the door open, a bit wider again. "The body's at 3 Lauriston Gardens." He gave in, "But, I warn you, the Police definitely won't give you any information."

Sherlock spun round and walked down the drive, ignoring the call of "You're wasting your time!" from the front door, behind him.

John jogged to catch up with the taller boy. "We're not seriously going to this crime scene, are we?"

Sherlock looked at him with exasperation, "Of course we are, John."

"We won't be allowed in."

"Who said anything about having to be allowed in?"

John frowned, not quite understanding what Sherlock was saying. A few minutes later, he understood, and his eyes widened. "We can't break into a crime scene, Sherlock!" he almost shouted.

"We can and we will." Sherlock replied coolly, ducking behind a parked police car as they turned onto Lauriston Gardens.

Sherlock peaked out from around the car, eyes scanning over the Police officers milling around outside number 3. He glanced into the car, noticing the window was open, reached in, and snatched up the walkie talkie inside.

He bent low again and put his mouth to the speaker, holding down the button.

"This is the Chief Super Intendant." He said in his most authoritative voice. Beside him John raised his eyebrows. "Can all officers working at the Jennifer Wilson Crime Scene go to the Embankment. We've had another suicide." Sherlock lied, easily.

John looked over the car and saw the officers exchanging worried glances, jumping into their cars, and speeding away. Sherlock and John only just got behind the corner before their hiding place had driven away.

"Problem Solved." Sherlock smirked as he marched toward the crime scene.

John followed him, trying not to think about what would happen if they got caught, as they headed up the staircase.

They both entered the abandoned room at the same time. In the middle of the room lay the dead girl, wearing her school uniform and her hair covering half of her face. John paused in the doorway, worrying about disturbing the evidence in the room, whereas Sherlock marched straight over to the body, not concerned about respect or disturbing evidence.

Sherlock bent down next to the girl, his eyes roamed over the motionless body. Carefully, he reached out, brushing her coat with his fingertips, pulling something out of her pockets and examining the skin on her hand.

Before long, he stood up, gazed around the room and then looked at John who had wandered into the room.

"Go on then," John told him, smiling. "What have you worked out?"

Sherlock grinned. "Jenny started walking home, when it was raining. Her parents weren't able to pick her up yesterday, because they both had meetings. She's been working very hard during the holidays, probably trying to improve her grades before the exams. To get here she must have been picked up by someone and driven here. I think we should talk to her friend, Rachel, to find out more."

"Okay, next obvious question: How?"

"Yesterday, she came into school with her friends, so they could do some art work- preparation for their exam. Her blazer's still wet – yesterday afternoon there was heavy rain, about an hour after school had finished, when she would have been walking home. Her parents couldn't collect her – there are notes in her pocket that she had passed to her friends during a silent lesson, her part of the conversation consists of her moaning about not being able to be picked up later, because her parents are busy. Her fingers on her right hand are dry from where she's been writing lots – her pen has rubbed against her hands, drying the skin. This shows she's been working hard, probably trying to improve her grades. That would also explain why she stayed in school for an hour before walking home – she was doing extra work. To get here from school she must have been driven, why would she walk here when she was walking home? As for her friend, Rachel," he gestured to the scratched note in the floorboards, Rache. "She wrote this while she was dying, clearly she must know something that can help us catch the murderer."

"That is amazing." John stated, shaking his head and chuckling.

Sherlock smiled back, then spun round and frowned. "Something doesn't make sense."

"What? Sherlock?" John asked.

"She doesn't have a phone." Sherlock said, "She has loads of friends to stay in touch with, she must have a phone. And where's her school bag?" he asked the room at large.

He scowled and pushed past John."I need to talk to Rachel."

John tutted, as he followed Sherlock down the stairs, amazed at the lack of manners he could have.

As they walked out onto the road, they heard distant sirens getting gradually louder. The boys looked at each other, smirked, and broke into a run, moving away from the approaching police and back towards school.


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: HI EVERYONE! *waves* I FINALLY got another chapter done. I'm so sorry it's taken this long! I've had mocks, been busy over Christmas and just haven't had the motivation or any ideas to continue with this story! But, now I've got the next few chapters planned, so hopefully updates will be more regular! :D Thank you for sticking with this story, and although I don't like to ask, I would LOVE some reviews just so I know that people are still reading and enjoying it, so I will be more motivated! So please, if you have time! :D Thank you again! Enjoy Chapter 11!**

**Chapter 11**

Sherlock and John walked into school the next day. Once they had got back after their visit to the crime scene, they had instantly been told off for leaving school during school hours. Their head of year had even threatened to suspend them.

At break time, they moved through the canteen, Sherlock gazing around, looking for Rachel, Jenny's friend. They soon spotted her eating, with her friends, in the corner of the room. Sherlock swept over to her, John tagging along behind.

"Rachel?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes?" she replied, looking up.

John shuffled awkwardly as she looked at them, not liking to interrupt the girls to have such a depressing conversation. As he waited for Sherlock to start, he glanced at a brown-haired girl, who was watching him. John smiled at her, remembering seeing her around school. His mind supplied a name- Sarah.

"You were Jennifer Wilson's best friend?"

"I... I was, yes." She told them, stuttering slightly as she thought of her dead friend.

"When she died, she scratched your name into the floor. Do you know why that might be?"

"I... no!" She glanced at her friends, "Do you want to talk outside?"

"I don't see why." Sherlock commented.

"Please." She almost begged, looking pleadingly at them.

"Come on, Sherlock. Let's go outside." John told him, tugging on his sleeve.

Sherlock tutted and sighed, "Oh, alright. Come on then."

Sherlock marched out and Rachel followed reluctantly.

* * *

They ended up standing under the oak tree in the field. Rachel stood slightly defensively, but was also fiddling with her hair, showing her nerves.

"Right." Sherlock announced, "Do you know anything?"

"No!" Rachel told him, eyes wide. John didn't blame her being nervous and defensive, Sherlock wasn't exactly being understanding.

"Does Jenny have a phone?"

"Yeah, she did. Sorry, what sort of question is that?"

"A very important question," Sherlock replied, glaring down at her, "What sort of phone?"

"Um... an iPhone. She loved her phone, always kept it with her. She used it to text all her friends and boyfriends."

"And her school bag, what did that look like?"

"Um... It was a pink shoulder bag, I think. I've never really thought about."

"Ugh," Sherlock grumbled, "Why can't people just notice things?" He turned back to Rachel, "What things did she like?"

"TV shows, especially Merlin, I suppose. Hair, make up... you know." She trailed off, "Why is this important anyway?"

"I'm trying to work out who killed her and why." Sherlock stated, as if it was obvious.

"Someone killed her? It wasn't suicide?" Rachel gasped, shocked.

"Yes, of course it was. She was obviously driven to the house! And her bag and phone weren't there. So I want to know where they are. And now I have exhausted your knowledge, so I must find new evidence."

Sherlock turned and stalked off towards their form room. John smiled apologetically at Rachel, "Thanks for all your help." And then followed close behind, leaving Rachel to wonder what the hell had just happened.

* * *

John and Sherlock were walking out of the school gates when Sherlock suddenly stopped. John walked a few paces before he realised that Sherlock wasn't moving. He turned, the crowds of students moving like a sea around them, "Sherlock?"

"Her bag was pink." Sherlock muttered, his eyes glinting with that look he got when he had solved a puzzle.

"What?"

"PINK!" Sherlock shouted, attracting strange looks from the people around them, before he turned and ran off down the road.

John shrugged, turned the other way and continued walking; trying not to imagine the adventure he was missing.

He paused as he felt someone staring at him, turning back to a little year seven who was looking at him with deep brown eyes.

"Was that Sherlock Holmes?" the boy asked, almost squeaking with an excitement John couldn't understand.

"Yes." He answered, confused.

"And you're John Watson?" The boy bounced up and down slightly, his face beaming.

"Yes." John repeated, "And you are?"

"I'm James." The boy told him, "But most people call me Jim – Jim Moriarty."

"Well, nice to meet you." John said, politely, "Why are you so interested in Sherlock?"

"He's amazing! And really clever! I've read his website!"

"He has a website?"

"Of Course! Didn't you know?"

"No, I'll have a look. I bet he just boasts about himself on it, it's something he'd do. Well, better go!"

"Okay!" the boy grinned, "See you around!"

* * *

John had just pushed his maths homework away, after wasting 2 hours on solving equations, when his phone beeped. He frowned, pulling it out of his pocket and illuminating the screen.

_221B Baker Street. Come at once if convenient. – SH_

John sighed and raised his eyebrows at the text. There was no way he could go to a friend's house at this time. His phone beeped again.

_If inconvenient, come anyway. – SH_

John smirked at the text and then got up, walking downstairs to see where his mum and sister were. His mother was watching TV in the lounge and Harry was in her room. He dithered in front of the front door for a few moments.

_Could be Dangerous. – SH_

That sold it for him. He tugged on his coat and shoes, and silently slipped out of the door into the evening light.

He arrived at Sherlock's address half an hour later and knocked on the door. After a few seconds it was wrenched open to reveal Sherlock's excited face. He stepped back and ushered John over the threshold, before turning and running up the stairs two-at-a-time.

John followed behind more slowly, emerging through the door to 221b to find a homely, warm flat and Sherlock spread out on the sofa.

"Hi. How can I help? I'm assuming it's important." John got straight to the point. "Is it about the case?"

"Her case."

"Her case?"

"Yes, her case. The murder took her bag, first mistake."

"Right, Okay."

Sherlock suddenly jumped to his feet, walking through the flat and grabbing something from a kitchen chair.

John took a step back as he realised what Sherlock was holding – a pink school bag. Full of books and school equipment.

"That's her bag?"

"Yes. Obviously." Sherlock answered, roughly tipping the contents out onto the floor. "Now, what do you notice?"

John bent down, slightly reluctant to look through the girl's belongings. "Um... School books, pencil case, water bottle, lunch box." He listed the objects he saw.

"And what's missing?" Sherlock asked, looking up at him.

"Uh..." John hesitated and then Sherlock broke in.

"Her phone. Where is it? There was no phone on the body and there's no phone in her bag. We know she had one, because Rachel said so. So, where is it?"

"She could have lost it?" John suggested.

"Or?" Sherlock prompted

"Or the murderer could have it!" John gasped in realization.

Sherlock smirked, clearly pleased with the conclusion John had come to. "And," he started, "She had an iphone, which means we can find it using GPS!"

He jumped to his feet, switching a laptop on and starting to pace.

"Her e-mail address is – it says so in her planner. But, her password. Her password we don't know. What does she like?" Sherlock asked the room at large.

John opened his mouth to reply, only to be interrupted by a knock at the door.

"POLICE!" A rough voice called, "OPEN UP!"


End file.
